


It's All a Matter of Time

by KylaraIngress



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Alternate Timelines, M/M, POV First Person, Temporal Paradox, leap home AU, mid-leap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaraIngress/pseuds/KylaraIngress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's leap into a young Al Calavicci shows how the twists and turns of time travel can be more than a roller coaster, and shows Al how vital he really is to the project. A missing scene/alternate ending to the episode "A Leap for Lisa".</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All a Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written in early 2001, and publishing now as part of "Throwback Thursdays". Previously published in _For the Love of Al_ , Issue 1, but was originally intended for the _Alpha Chronicles_ zine.
> 
> When I started writing slash, I became fascinated by the he/she sex debate of Ziggy – and when I noticed that "A Leap for Lisa" was actually the first time Sam CALLED Ziggy by a feminine pronoun, this story started taking form – explaining who St. John & Alpha 'really' were.

I should've known somethin' was up with Ziggy and the project the moment I exited the Imaging Chamber into Control. What tipped me off was the way Gushie was lookin' at me – like I shouldn't even be there. I watched his eyes trail down to the monitor, pause for a few minutes as he read what was there (and the fact that Ziggy chose that method to reveal what he knew scared the bejeebies outta me), then glanced back at me.

"What?" I couldn't help but ask. "Am I now destined to become the leader of the free world or somethin'?" This leap, the leap where the person currently sittin' in the Waiting Room was one 'Bingo' Calavicci, was not fun for any of us – least of all me. I mean, as much as my ego enjoyed talking to my younger self (although I think it ranks right up there with when Sam had leaped into his younger self on the creepy crawly scale – I still remember asking the leapee's name and havin' a heart attack when he answered 'Sam Beckett'), we all were quite aware of all the possible implications this leap could have.

"Uh, Ad . . . Admiral?" he stammered, then flushed at the title in a way that made my skin crawl. "Ziggy says . . . Ziggy says . . . ah, hell, Admiral," he said, and I flinched at the explicative – Gushie was not normally one to swear, "you're supposed to be dead!"

Oh, boy. "I'm what?"

"Ziggy says your chances . . . uh, Bingo's chances of going to the gas chamber are 100%."

"What?" This had to be a joke. Not that Ziggy was real good at it, but occasionally the old boy did try to infuse our little project with humor. Kinda reminded me of that android on _Star Trek_ , and how his attempts at learning humor would always fall flatter than a pancake.

"Bingo's chances . . . ."

"I heard you the first time, Gush," I said, raising my hands. Wondering, briefly, why I was taking all this so calmly. I had been panicked in the Imaging Chamber, but once I realized nothing happened to me, I had calmed down. "Then how is it I'm still here?"

"We don't know, Admiral. This is the first time something like this has happened."

"Make that the second time," I mumbled, more to myself.

"What was that, Admiral?"

"Al, what's going on?" came a new voice. As if I needed proof behind the changes Sam Beckett wrought upon my world, it was his wife, Donna Elesee, who had just walked into the Control Room.

"Apparently, I'm supposed to be dead," I tried to joke. Hell, I was used to timeline shifts.

"Excuse me?" she said in a gasp.

"Yeah. Seems the boy genius just killed me off. I was about to ask why I had lost contact with him," I finished, remembering how panicked I was getting as my odds were rising. Then, right after I reached 99%, the room had gone blank – the image cut.

"Lost contact?" she shrieked (boy, did that lady have a set of lungs on her). "You lost contact with _Sam_?"

Jeez – you'd think it was _my_ fault. Then again, most of what happened at the project she ended up blaming me for.

"Ziggy, what the hell is going on?" I asked, deciding to ignore the whiny wonder as I usually did.

Instead of getting a verbal comeback like I was expecting, I paled as I saw Gushie flinch as he read the display.

"What the hell is he saying?"

"He says that first of all, as a non-person you have no clearance to talk to him at all," Gushie said, obviously not comfortable with the data that was spitting out of the bucket of bolts. "Second of all, he says his name can't be Ziggy anymore, since that is the name you bestowed upon . . . uh . . . it."

I couldn't help but notice the change in pronouns. Great. It was going to be one of _those_ leaps. Let's just hope I didn't poof out of existence. Like, I guess, I was already supposed to have done.

"So what is _its_ name?" I asked, trying to hold back my anger. "And why is _it_ not talking to me?"

"Uh . . . talking?" Gushie asked, clearly confused at my question. You know, there are times when Sam's screwin' about the time stream really starts givin' me headaches.

"Admiral, you know Alpha has never had the ability to speak," said Donna, and she touched my shoulder in concern.

I flinched – I shouldn't have. It wasn't her fault that every time I saw her all I saw was the woman who had originally left Sam at the altar. It wasn't her fault that Sam's Swiss-cheesing apparently forgot it was that night which led us to explore another aspect of our relationship. It wasn't her fault that her continued existence was a constant reminder of what was eternally lost to me, even if Sam did leap home. I tried being friends with her. Lord knows I tried. She was, after all, my best friend's wife. I suddenly latched onto what she was saying.

"Alpha?" I asked. "And since when the hell did you start using my title, Donna?" She usually made it a point to forget my rank, had even at one time told me I never deserved it and I got it by default.

She seemed puzzled by my question. "Admiral Beckett, you've never been comfortable with anyone but Dr. Beckett using your first name."

Admiral . . . _who_? I blanched as I heard the woman who five minutes ago had been married to the love of my life call _both_ of us with our titles (my mind was ignoring her choice of my last name for the moment), something she never did ever since she had suddenly popped into existence. Oh, I was gonna have to have a long talk with wonder boy when he leaped home.

"What happened to Calavicci?" I asked, hesitant. I knew by this point I was only a few comments away from Beeks bein' called in to figure out why, to the rest of the staff, I was acting odd – even by my standards. Whoever the hell I was, that is.

"Ensign Calavicci is still predicted to go to the gas chamber with 100% certainty," said a new voice from behind me. Now, I'd been Sam's sidekick through the time stream long enough to where I was used to people popping in and out of existence all the time – I don't even _flinch_ any more. But this was the first time I'd ever have someone pop up from _inside_ the IC.

I turned, and viewed the new person with a critical eye. He was a little taller than me, lean, about my age. He was wearing a suit, crisp, clean, boring, and his voice was clipped, precise, British. He sounded familiar, somehow.

"Who the _hell_ are you?" I asked, completely flustered at  this little change. I knew, without a doubt, that I had been the only one in the Chamber just moments ago.

"Admiral, I know that these little jaunts of Dr. Beckett's have been known to muddle your memory – although God only knows why he thought you would make a good back-up Observer – and I do realize that it's tough for you to see your husband go through these life and death situations, but surely you remember me." He leaned in and whispered, "Especially here in the Control Room where everyone can hear you. Just call me Eddie, and I'll try to help you along."

"Yeah, Eddie," I said, loud enough to be heard by the other members of the project. Inside, however, I was quaking. Husband? That was a new one. I mean, yeah, we had been lovers in the original timeline, but when Sam reunited Donna with her father, she had magically popped into existence as his wife. And despite all the numerous timeline changes that had occurred since, I had never encountered an existence where our love had a legal background. But that, at least, explained why Donna called me Admiral Beckett.

Eddie, whoever the hell he was, just gave an over-exaggerated sigh that I interpreted as extreme patience. I had a sudden feeling that me calling him Eddie, and him getting annoyed with it, was a running joke. Too bad I couldn't remember any of it. "Admiral, why don't we go to my office to try and straighten things out, alright?"

His office. Great. That way, he could lead. "Sure, Eddie," I said, letting my normal swagger back into my voice.

As soon as we walked out of the Control Room, headed for wherever his office was housed, I turned on the newest addition (at least for me) of Project Quantum Leap. "Okay, who the hell are you?" I asked again, trying to calm down my anger. After all, it was no more his fault than it was mine.

"I am called Edward St. John, the fifth, at your service," he said, giving a slight bow while he walked.

As we turned another corridor, I noted the British pronunciation – 'Sinjin' – and continued the line of questioning. "Okay, now who the hell am I?"

He seemed nonplussed by my question. "Well, technically, you are still one Albert Calavicci, a three-star Admiral in the U.S. Navy, nicknamed 'Bingo' when you were an ensign. You are, in fact, the same gentleman that we have in the waiting room."

We were passing my office when he stopped and turned toward it. "Wait, I thought you said we were going to yours," I said.

"We are," he answered, and motioned me toward the door. "This is the office I utilize in this timeline."

"Great," I sighed. I was really gonna have to talk with Sam when he got home – and maybe give him a swift kick while I was at it. As the door opened, I continued, "If I'm still Albert Calavicci, how come everyone is now calling me Admiral Beckett?"

"Won't you sit down?" he said, and indicated the couch. At the same time, he turned and walked to his (my?) desk and rummaged through the drawers. "Ah, I believe this is yours," he said, finally finding what he was looking for. I gave a quirk of my mouth as he handed over a cigar. "I'd offer you a drink, Admiral, but I know you wouldn't want to break your promise to Dr. Beckett."

"And how in the hell do you know so much about me?" I asked, lighting the cigar and settling into the couch. It felt odd, being on this side. I was a stranger in my own life. Not for the first time, I had a feeling of sympathy for Sam, living this kind of situation day to day.

"I will try to answer your questions in good time. First of all, let me ask you: have you ever thought what the consequences of Dr. Beckett's actions on the project are?"

I just looked up at him, my eyes boring into his, letting him know my troubles without saying a thing. "Constantly," I growled, the memory of Donna's first pop-in fresh in my mind.

"And have you ever thought of how vital you yourself are to the project? How much of what we know as PQL is because of you?"

I shrugged my shoulders in complacent modesty. "Sam would've still done it without me. He was determined to prove time travel was possible."

Edward shook his head in exasperation. "If you were wiped out of existence before ever meeting Dr. Beckett, the project itself would cease to exist."

"Oh, please!" I cried in disbelief. "While my ego is quite happy with that thought, I doubt PQL wouldn't _exist_ without me. I mean, Sam would've still found someone to do the dog and pony show I do with the committee every budget meeting, and Donna – now that she didn't leave him at the altar – would've given him the support I did."

"But your influence in his life runs much deeper than that, Admiral." He sighed and looked at me. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what, Clarence?" I asked, wondering if I looked anything like Jimmy Stewart.

"You remember that leap Dr. Beckett made in Havenwall Institution?" My shudder was answer enough. "And you told him at one time that you had given him his first break." While part of my mind was trying to figure out why this . . . this stranger knew so much about me and Sam, the other part of my mind saw where he was going.

"StarBright," I gasped. It had been my call on whether to hire the young genius that already had two degrees and was finishing up his third at M.I.T. Even though my career had been going down the tubes (and it was within the year that I finally hit the skids and Sam found me taking out my anger and frustration at life on a poor, defenseless vending machine), since I was a recent grad from M.I.T. myself, the hiring board asked me to use my contacts to see if he was worth the effort. "But he would've gotten on without _my_ say so," I finally gargled out.

"Are you sure of that, Admiral?"

I didn't have an answer to that. The answer was too terrifying to imagine.

"So, I ask you again . . . have you really thought about how vital you are to PQL, Admiral?" The gentleman took a deep breath, stood, and walked over to the back cabinets. A small tea service was set up where my old coffee pot used to be, and next to it was a small hot plate. "I would offer you some Earl Grey, but I know how you feel about tea," he said with a twist of his lips that let me know he was joking, no matter how droll it was.

As he went about making his tea, I sat there, thinking of what would've happened to Sam's career had he not gotten signed on at StarBright. It was there that we began discussing his life long ambition to travel in time (once I sobered up, that is). It was there that we (make that I) started getting the foundation for funding and approval from the government. Was I really that influential on the man who had given me a reason for living and loving again?

"So, why am I still here?" I finally asked.

He turned and gave me a look of confusion that cleared up quickly as he realized what I was referring to. And he sighed again.

"As opposed to being dead?" he asked. "You see, we've basically entered a paradox in time, Admiral. By Dr. Beckett's actions today, he has effectively wiped you out of existence. But without your influence, Project Quantum Leap would not have been created, which would then have not led to Dr. Beckett's being able to leap through time, which sets the timeline back to where it was."

"A Möebius Strip in time," I said, more to myself than anything. Well, we had always wondered what would happen if Sam's consequences ended up affecting something too vital. Sam, by leaping through time, killed me off – but without me, he wouldn't be able to leap through time, which brought me back to life. Oh, yeah, he was more than deserving of a swift kick in the ass this time. "So what does that mean for us? And why is it that you and I are the only ones who know who I really am? And why is everyone calling me Admiral Beckett?"

The teakettle whistled, and he busied himself with the tea. He seemed taken by the simple procedure, as if it was a new ritual for him as well, and I wondered who this man really was and how he came to the project.

He gave me another enigmatic smile, and said, "Really, Admiral. You and I are used to these constant timeline shifts, and the various changes Samuel has wrought upon our world. And while the others are not exactly unintelligent, it is safer to just give them one reality for now. But since to them, Admiral Calavicci is no more, Alpha," and he gave that small smile at the name again, "thought it would be best to give you the name of your husband." He took a small taste, seemed to find it pleasing, and walked back to his desk (it had to be his desk – I would never consciously choose a mahogany desk for a work area).

Sitting down, he blew on his tea and took another sip. "But right now, our plan is to try and get time back on track. As your lack of existence in this paradox refuses you access to Dr. Beckett, I will have to maintain contact with him. Samuel has requested I take . . . Bingo," he continued, saying the name with a tinge of disgust, "out of the Imaging Chamber and have Alpha, although he insists on calling her Ziggy, interrogate him about the night of the murder." I winced at the fact that suddenly Sam remembered Ziggy in the feminine – did that mean he remembered Donna as well? After all, the last time he heard Ziggy's female voice was the time he had come back. "Instead, I suggest you have a little chat with him to try and help Samuel in his continued crusade to prove your innocence."

"And what will you be doing?" I asked.

"Since you cannot have contact with Samuel until we solve this conundrum, I will be working on a way to where you can at least see him."

So, I sat 'myself' down again, and we had a long talk about Saturday night. I was able to convince 'Bingo' that this was not an interrogation, but he still didn't know how I could help his case. So, after a couple of hours, I gave up and decided, regretfully, that Sam had the right idea. Ziggy, that is Alpha, would have to see what Bingo didn't realize he knew.

"Jeez Louise," said 'Bingo' as he walked into the Control Room. I looked at him, and had to give a laugh. His mouth was open, and I recognized my patented leer starting to cover his face.

"Uh, Ensign Calavicci, this is Pulse Communication Technician Tina Gushman."

Tina just looked from me to . . . well, me, and laughed her silvery laugh. "Gee, if I wasn't taken, this would be a dream come true," she said, giving me the evil eye.

"And this," I continued, ignoring her (well, as much as I could), "is head of Imaging Control, Dr. Wolfgang Gushman." I gave 'Bingo' a look, and said, "Tina's husband. So just get those thoughts right out of your head." He gave me a surprised look, no doubt confused that I could actually 'read' his mind. Wasn't that hard . . . it was my mind, too, after all.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Admiral?" came the sultry voice of Ziggy, and I gave a double take. A few hours ago, she / he wasn't talking . . . and this sounded more like Ziggy. I briefly wondered what had changed now.

"And that is Alpha," I said with a smile. "Of course, I wanted to call her Ziggy," I added in a stage whisper, realizing suddenly that I was giving myself the idea for the name as we spoke. "Alpha, would you mind . . . ."

"Interrogating Ensign Calavicci for information on the events of Saturday, June 22, 1957?" she interrupted. "Of course, Admiral."

And the interrogation commenced.

I found it interesting, watching 'Bingo' be interrogated by 'Alpha' – had I not seen it with my own eyes, it would be pretty unbelievable. I couldn't figure out where 'Alpha' was going, seemingly asking questions that had no relevance on the case.

"Ah, there you are, Admiral," came the voice of Eddie. "We have the link up. Alpha, have you finished with the young Ensign?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. And I noticed that St. John didn't even look surprised at the newer voice of the computer. "I'm printing out my results now."

"Are you ready, Admiral?" Eddie asked as he walked over to the printout. I nodded, and slowly followed him into the I.C., grabbing the extra handlink he handed me – apparently the answer to how I could see Sam and Sam's world.

I gave a small smile as the images once again congealed around me, around us, and I saw Sam laying on the bed, looking . . . pensive, attempting to read a book. The strains of Allegheny Moon were playing in the background ('Allegheny Moon it's up to you, please see what you can do for me and for my one and only love,' I heard and couldn't help but hear the double meaning in the lyrics). He gave a heart-felt sigh, and stood – looking out the window. "What's wrong? I asked Edward. "Has he been having trouble remembering me? I hadn't thought about that."

"You are quite impossible," he said to me.

"Pardon?" came the voice of Sam, and I realized that even though I could see him, he couldn't see or hear me . . . and thought St. John had been talking to him.

"Well, actually not you, Samuel," he said to Sam, and gave me a playful smile. He was going to have some fun. "Sam," he quickly corrected at the sigh of my friend. "No, that . . . that satyr," he said, giving the word the emphasis he felt it truly deserved, "that you leaped into."

I gave a chuckle at Sam's slight smile at the term. "Okay, what happened?" he asked Eddie, looking down in his misery.

"I did as you requested. I took Ensign Calavicci into the Control Room. He was stunned."

"By the technology," Sam assumed. I laughed.

"By Pulse Communication Technician Tina," he supplied, after giving me a look.

"How did you . . ." I started, but was interrupted by Sam's laugh. I guess he knew me too well.

He looked back out the window, and whispered, "They're lovers."

St. John gave _both_ of us a look before sputtering, "But she's married to Gushie!"

"I gotta get history back on track," Sam sighed, rubbing his face in his consternation. I sighed with him. Will he ever remember me as more than just an old lech? "Look," he said, turning back toward us, and my heart broke again at the pained expression of loss on his face, "what did Ziggy . . . what did Alpha say?"

Edward looked at the handlink, and I looked at mine. Alpha was not being too helpful (well, at least one thing was constant!). " _It_ projected," Edward said, stressing the 'it' both to me and to Sam, "a seventy . . . two percent chance that the ensign's black corvette – a singularly vulgar vehicle, if I may say so – could be used to prove his innocence."

"Hey!" I protested. "That car is a classic!"

"His car?" Sam asked at the same time.

"His car," Edward nodded at me, then looked at Sam. Goody – this should be exciting!

Sam managed to use that deadly combination of Beckett sincerity and Calavicci charm to somehow get the guard to let him go search the car, where Eddie and I finally caught up to him.

"I will shoot you if this is a trick, sir," the guard was saying.

"He looks serious," I commented, more to myself at this point.

Sam slammed the trunk in his frustration, saying, "This is not a trick . . . Sergeant."

"Jeez, Sam – didn't you ever pick up anything from me as a military man?" I joked, as the guard corrected him.

"I'm a corporal, sir."

"Yes, you are. I'm . . . I'm sorry," he said, and he looked up at the sky, seemingly for guidance.

"What are you searching for, sir?" the guard asked the question that was on all our minds.

Sam glanced over to St. John much the same way he would at me, so as to not appear he was looking at something specific, and said, "I'm not sure."

"Neither is Alpha," Eddie supplied as Sam walked to the side of the car. "It's predicting that something in the car is important, but the car itself can prove your innocence."

"The car itself?" Sam clarified as he sat in the car.

"Sir?" the guard asked, and I couldn't help but laugh – always amused when others thought he was talking to them.

He slid down sideways, looking on the floor of the car, and I smiled as I got a view of his ass I didn't get very often anymore. As I saw him pick up something, I wondered aloud, "What is it?"

Faster than lightning, Sam spun around with a cry of " _Al_!"

"Freeze!" the guard said, pulling out the gun for emphasis. I, meanwhile, had jumped at the fact that he had heard me.

"Do what he says, Sam," I said quickly, knowing the situation was too tense to start to wonder why he could suddenly see me. I turned quickly to Eddie to ask what the hell was going on, and gasped as I saw there _was_ no Eddie. Damn – just as I was beginning to like the guy, too.

"I'm froze," Sam said, his hands in the air. "I'm froze," he repeated, but couldn't help the huge smile on his face. The look of surprise and relief was heartbreaking.

"He's froze," I added, knowing it would calm Sam down.

"We're going back inside, sir," the guard said after a quick pat down, and at Sam's nod of acceptance, ordered, "Now, sir!"

"Back inside, Sam," I said, pointing with my cigar.

"Anything you say," he said, closing the car door, and I could tell that was more to me than to the guard. "Whatever you say," he continued, backing up, and looked at me with another smile that made my insides quiver in a way they hadn't in five years.

We started walking back to the room, and I had to hold back a smile at the almost skip Sam had in his step. "How's Tina?" he asked me when he felt the guard was far enough away to not consider him a loony.

"Tina?" I asked, confused. I then remembered his earlier exchange with St. John, where he had learned that she had married Gushie, and so knew what he was really asking me. "This is no time to ask about my love life!" I sputtered appropriately.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," he said with a laugh. "And Ziggy," he continued his line of questioning, "she's still called Ziggy, right?" I couldn't help but notice the return of the feminine pronoun.

"Sam, what's goin' on with you?" I asked him, looking around one more time for Eddie in the hopes that maybe _he_ could answer my question. You know, by now, I was dreadin' Sam's return back to me, for I had a feeling he wouldn't outlive what I was plannin' on doin' to him now.

"Nothin'," he said, and I had to smile at his dropped 'g'. "Look, just what are the odds of me being found guilty?" he asked, coughing to cover up his conversation.

I looked at the handlink, and covered a gasp. "They've gone down to 20%," I answered and pushed the button to meet him up at the top of the stairs.

He looked up at me, giving me another smile, and for a brief moment I thought he remembered. At no other time on a leap had he looked at me with such love. He turned back to check on the guard, and then walked up the stairs.

"And all because I found one of your silly cigars," he said, turning to open the door.

"That's not my cigar," I said, looking at the handlink, trying to figure out why my odds had gone down so fast.

He stopped, and gave a look to make it look like he was watching the guard, awaiting the 'punch line' to my information.

"I didn't start smoking cigars until I went to Vietnam," I said. "That's gotta be Chip's," I continued, then it hit me what Alpha was trying to say. And I looked up to see Sam's eyes sharing my revelation.

As Sam asked Chip about the cigar, we finally got the whole story out of him. The love for Marcy. The night at the beach. The blood and death and panic afterward. He said he wouldn't have let me take the rap for it, but I doubted it – after all, he had been letting me take the rap for it so far. And according to Ziggy, or Alpha, or whatever the damn bucket of bolts was calling itself/himself/herself now, I had gone to the gas chamber as a result.

But I also knew Sam wouldn't see it like that. Sam, God love him, never thought that anybody could be bad. Everyone had a good heart in his mind, and so when Chip walked out and Sam turned to me with that look, I asked, "What are you thinkin'?"

"I know why I'm here, Al," he said.

"To save Chip?" I continued. And couldn't help but notice the sad tone the phrase had given me. Even now, the leap wasn't for me.

"Not just Chip," he returned, and started to outline his plan.

So, we leaped 'Bingo' into myself (himself? And I thought _tenses_ were a problem in time travel!) and it worked. Lisa was still alive, Marcy was still alive, and most importantly _I_ was still alive. I couldn't help but notice how pleased Chip looked as he brought Lisa to 'me', and tried to realize that now, in this timeline, he had never done what he had done.

Sam leaped out and I walked out of the Imaging Chamber ready to face another unreality – but at least one that would stick around for a few days.

I looked at control, noticing Tina and Gushie standing close together . . . real close together, and I sighed. Somehow, this leap had returned them to being lovers. You win some and you lose some. I couldn't help the brief thought as to whether I even had a steady lover in this timeline.

"I'll be in my office," I said as I laid the handlink down. "Let me know when he's leaped."

"Yes, Doctor," Gushie nodded, after only giving me a slight look of surprise at my words. Which pretty much mirrored my own at the change (yet again) in titles. So I was a doctor now? He looked up from Ziggy's (Alpha's?) mainframe just long enough to say, "Dr. Beeks has asked that you go see her after Dr. Beckett leaped out."

"Great," I sighed. That wasn't something I was looking forward to; I was sure she would want to talk to me about the fact that Sam had leaped into my younger self and the psychological problems that all implied. "I wanna work on my report first," I answered, knowing it for the excuse it was. But it wasn't an excuse to get away from her. This leap had brought up some interesting questions, and Beeks wasn't the one I wanted to talk to about them.

I walked down the hall, wondering what all was changed about this timeline. Where Donna was, for instance. She was usually right on top of my exit from the I.C., with 101 questions and 101 problems to blame me for. But as I thought about it, I hadn't seen her since my talk with St. John.

I arrived in front of my office (was it my office, still?), and I keyed in the code that never seemed to change: 021292, the date PQL was launched.

The door slid open and I sighed as I saw my office looking like it hasn't for almost five years now. Almost like it had been originally . . . and I did a double take at that thought. My desk, an old military gray one I had dragged with me from StarBright, was back – the metal top covered in gray pencil marks from Sam and me and late nights trying to figure out the equations of time travel. Bookshelves, not very orderly, lined the walls – filled with research books and various white pages from across America that helped me in my search for funds.

And there, on my desk, the picture of me and Sam at the PQL groundbreaking, both of us smiling like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. I gave a laugh that was both nervous and relieved at that one. It had disappeared early in the leaps, I couldn't remember when, and it had remained absent through every timeline change since.

And . . . and I gulped as I saw the connecting door off to the right, and knew without a doubt that it connected to Sam's office. He would be the only person I would allow unrestricted access to my office, a place I considered a haven at work, and it was another thing that had remained conspicuously absent in the years of leaping.

"Uh, Doctor?" I heard Gushie's voice say over Ziggy's intercom system.

"Yeah?" I asked, opening the top drawer of my desk hoping that I still stashed my stogies there (hell, hoping that I still smoked cigars). I gave a sigh of relief as I felt the box of Chivellos that lay there.

"I thought you'd like to know Dr. Beckett has leaped home," he said calmly – like he was givin' me a weather report or somethin'.

"He's done _what_?"

"You asked me to inform you when he leaped," Gushie explained as if I was a four year old. "I assumed you had something in your office for him, which is why you went there right away. I told him to meet you there when he's done changing out of the Fermi suit."

I still was confused. (Shit, was there a moment during this whole leap where I hadn't been confused?) "You're telling me Sam's leaped _home_?" I had to ask, I had to make sure.

"Yes, Doctor?" Gushie asked hesitantly, sounding confused at my clarification. That's when it hit me: it must be another timeline change.

"Thanks, Gush," I said, and sat down in my chair (that is, before I collapsed in it). "Ziggy?" I asked, knowing she (he? _It??_ ) would know what I was wanting.

"Yes?" the sultry female voice I'd been hearing on and off for the past years of leaping drawled.

"What changed _now_?"

"Are you referring to your timeline, Dr. Beckett's timeline, or . . . ."

"Ziggy!" I shouted, slamming my hand down on the desk in frustration.

"Hey, be nice to my baby!" I heard from my right.

I turned.

I saw.

I didn't believe.

Even with Gushie's words still ringing in my ears, I couldn't believe my eyes.

"Sam?" I croaked out, slowly rising from my chair. It sure looked like him, standing at the connecting doorway, wearing a pair of khaki pants and a pale green collarless shirt.

"Yeah?" he asked, giving me an odd look.

My legs faltered as I stood, and my arm crashed down on the desk to support me. Sam, seeing my problem, sprinted the few steps necessary to reach me and grabbed my arm.

It was real. I could feel each of his fingers pressed into my upper arm, each print seeming to singe me with its warmth. It was definitely real.

I felt dizzy with relief. This is what we'd been waiting for – all this time. I turned to him and drew him into a bone-crunching hug. I felt him tense up in confusion, but after a few seconds, his hands moved to my back and he uncomfortably returned the hug, obviously not sure why I was reacting so odd.

I held him tight, fighting my emotions and my tears, and just reveled in the ability to touch him, to have him touch me.

"Al?" I heard Sam ask. "Al?" he asked again, this time sounding a little worried. "Al?!?" This time, sheer panic. I felt him disentangling himself from my grip and he looked at me. "Are you alright?" he asked, his eyes filled with confused worry.

"You're . . . you're home," I strangled out.

"Yeah?" he asked, taking a slight step back. "I always come home between leaps," he continued, squinting his eyes as he looked over me. "Have you talked to Beeks yet?" he finally asked, as if he finally came up with why I was acting so strange.

"For Christ's sake, the leap just got over!" I roared, filled with confusion and rage. And immediately regretted it as I saw Sam take another step back, this time in fear.

"I meant during this leap," he clarified. "I mean, it was probably an awkward time for you and all."

I just looked at him in a stunned awe. 'Awkward' didn't even come close. "You really don't remember, do you?" I asked, ignoring the sense of déjà vu the phrase sent through me. At least he remembered _me_ this time.

"Dr. Calavicci," came the voice of Ziggy. "Might I remind you that the project is not set up for the leaper to remember anything but the current timeline. Otherwise, the mental strain would be too much for Dr. Beckett to handle."

"Oh, but I'm qualified to remember?" I barked at the ceiling.

"You do not have a photographic memory, Dr. Calavicci," Ziggy answered smugly. "Dr. Beckett does. Therefore, you are able to forget many of the alternate timelines. Dr. Beckett would not have that ability."

Finally, Sam's mega-genius brain caught up to the conversation. "Timeline changes, of course! Me being you must've given you a few doozies to deal with." He patted me on the shoulder gently. "Sorry, Al. You wanna take a swing at me?" he teased.

"Don't tempt me," I answered, only half joking. "Why don't you go to the cafeteria and get some lunch. I'll meet ya in a little bit and we'll talk."

"Oh," he said, and I couldn't help but notice the look of disappointment that crossed his face. "Lunch," he continued, nodding his head. "I'll . . . uh . . . I'll meet you there, then." He turned to go out.

"Hey, kid?" I said, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to face me. His eyes downcast, he looked like he had been pulled into the principal's office. Even with all I had been through, all we had been through, I couldn't stay mad when faced with that look. "For what it's worth, welcome home." And I patted him on the shoulder in lieu of the extra hug I wanted to give.

He gave me a half-hearted smile and walked out.

And I watched him go, filled with so many emotions I couldn't keep track. As soon as he was out of visual range, I closed the door, went back to my desk, grabbed a cigar, and growled, "Ziggy?"

"Yes?" she drawled, as if she hadn't been listening in to the conversation.

I took a deep breath, holding back my anger. It would only make her petulant (that is, more so than usual). "Update, please."

"Please specify, Doctor."

"Well, let's start with that. Not half an hour ago, I was an Admiral."

"After Dr. Beckett's leap out of your life, 'Bingo' – a rather intriguing nickname, if I may say so, Doctor – decided to drop out of the Navy after Vietnam and pursue a career in Physics."

"Do we know why I dropped out?" I asked. "Was it Beth?"

"Well, Doctor, in this timeline, you never married the woman Elizabeth Caroline Harrington, now Elizabeth Caroline Simon. Your relationship with Lisa Sherman promptly dissolved after the incidents of June 25, 1957, for reasons we do not have on record, and your social life was extremely limited after that. That is, until you dropped out of the Navy, where you started engaging in behavior that the military would have disapproved of with one Charles, a.k.a. 'Chip' Ferguson, who no longer died in Vietnam."

I had to smile. Only Ziggy would've phrased it like that. "So I dropped out because I realized I liked batting for the other team, huh?" I remembered distinctly my instructions to 'myself': 'Keep an eye on Chip until Monday morning.' And I remembered the look of expectation on his face as he brought Lisa into 'my' room the day Sam leaped out. Boy, I must've 'kept an eye' on Chip – and I must've had an interesting chat with Lisa that day, if my relationship 'promptly dissolved'. I tried to forgive Chip for what he had now no longer done, and hoped that at least the relationship had been satisfying. And I remembered how, after that first leap when everything changed, I had made Ziggy be able to find out more . . . personal information about my life to help me along.

"Your doctorate in Physics led to you meeting up with Dr. Beckett much earlier in this timeline," she continued as if I hadn't said anything, "and under much better conditions, I might add."

"I bet," I said, more to myself. Without the anger of Beth surrounding me, and the ability to admit my latent desires for same sex relationships, I would've never tried drowning myself in Jack Daniels. I hoped to be able to 'remember' this timeline quickly – it sounded like my life was going much better this time around.

"It also led you to help Dr. Beckett develop the retrieval program for Quantum Leap," she added – and I nearly choked on the drag of cigar smoke I had taken.

"So that's why he can come home between leaps?" I asked. While part of me was offended by the inability to give him a proper homecoming, I was actually glad Sam (and his memory) had been spared the anguish of being gone all this time.

"Yes, Doctor."

"And what about Donna?" I asked, not really wanting to know, but realizing my curiosity would get the better of me if I didn't find out. "Was . . . was her involvement with the project changed by this?"

"While you and Dr. Beckett never have had a relationship outside of friendship in this timeline," she said (well, I repeated for what seemed the tenth time, you win some and you lose some), "he is quite aware of your . . . capabilities," she continued, and gave a sultry laugh. "And your . . . shall we say more than friendly interest in him gave Dr. Elesee the wrong impression. The two have never dated in this timeline." Was it wrong of me to feel relieved at that news? It was almost worth losing Sam, to not have the witch in my life. Besides, just because we haven't had a relationship didn't mean we couldn't start one.

I took another drag on the cigar, and relaxed a bit in my chair. Now came the interesting bit. "Please, tell me about St. John."

"Sinjin?" she asked, and I faltered at her obvious confusion at the name. "I'm not quite sure who you're referring to, Doctor."

Interesting. She usually had the same set of memories I did. Then I remembered that she, too, had gone through a change over the leap.

"An Edward St. John. The Fifth, I think he said. He would be British, Ziggy, so it's really Saint John," I explained, "and he would be a little older than me."

A quick half a minute of her whirring about on her duties, then she promptly said, "There are listings for 103 persons with the last name St. John currently residing in the United Kingdom, 5 of which have the first initial E."

I asked, impatiently, "And?"

The sound of her microchips processing was my only answer for a couple of seconds, then she said, "After checking the information listed in the United Kingdom phonebook with birth records for those same names, only one of them is listed in the same age group as yourself, Dr. Calavicci."

"And?" I repeated, more exasperated.

"Contacting him now." And I heard the ring of the telephone.

A clipped British voice answered. "Hello?" I couldn't help but feel disappointed – the voice didn't sound like 'my' St. John.

"Yes, I'm looking for an Edward St. John?" I asked.

"Speaking." Well, the voice change may have something to do with the timeline change.

"I'm Admiral . . . I mean Dr. Albert Calavicci," I started.

"Ah, yes," he said. "You work with Dr. Samuel Beckett, if I remember right."

"How did you know that?" I asked.

"Dr. Beckett was a student of mine, when he attended Cambridge. He's kept in contact with me over the years, and I've followed his career avidly."

Well, that would explain why he would possibly be attached to the project somehow. I grinned, thinking I was finally making sense of things. "I've got an odd question, Mr. St. John," I started. "Actually, quite a few," I added with a half-hearted laugh. "First, what is your full name?"

"That is an odd question, Dr. Calavicci. Might I ask why you want to know?"

I hesitated, trying to come up with a valid reason. Well, Calavicci philosophy was 'fake it 'til you make it'. "Uh, I'm doing some research on something Dr. Beckett is working on, and he mentioned your name. I wanted to get some information on you."

"Well, if it's for Samuel," he said, and I noted the fact that he, like 'my' Eddie, called Sam 'Samuel', "I guess I can give you what information you need. I am Edward Cassius St. John, the fourth."

Damn. I knew things were going too easily. "The fourth?" I clarified.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Not the fifth?" I asked, taking my chances.

"No. I am sure my family would have loved it if I passed the name on, but unfortunately I did not." He took a breath, then explained, "My wife died in childbirth, and I truly believe that she was the only one for me." He paused, then continued, "Now, as to your other questions?"

"Uh," I started. The rest of my 'investigation' went promptly downhill with this revelation. "I actually don't have any more," I finally said. "None that I can think of, anyway. I may get back to you, though."

"Well, Dr. Calavicci, it was nice speaking with you. Samuel has spoken fondly of you, and I've often wondered what you were like. We will have to speak again."

"Yes, we will," I said, taking that little bit of knowledge to heart. "Thank you for your time." I hung up, confused. "The fourth?" I asked to thin air.

One thing I sometimes forget on the premises of PQL is that thin air can sometimes decide to speak back. "That is what he said, Doctor," Ziggy said. "Perhaps you should talk to Dr. Beckett about this?"

"Shit," I swore, remembering I had told him I'd have lunch with him. "Ziggy?" I asked.

"Everything we have talked about remains in confidence, Doctor," she said as an answer. "As usual."

"Thanks, Zig," I said, gathering up my attaché case. "I'll never insult you again."

"But then how would I know it was you I was speaking to, Dr. Calavicci?" she sweetly asked.

I just gave another laugh and sprinted down to the cafeteria.

"Al?" Sam asked as I ran into the room. He already had his meal, and was perusing a magazine while he ate. I snagged a french fry off his plate as I threw my bag onto the chair across from him.

"Sorry I'm late, kid," I said. "Be back in a sec." I grabbed a nearby tray, quickly went through the line, and returned back to his table – all in less than five minutes. "Had a little trouble with Ziggy," I gave as an answer to my behavior.

"What'd she do now?" he asked with a smile, and I returned it, glad he seemed to be in a better mood.

"You mean aside from changing sex, names, and personalities?" I asked quietly. Louder, I said, "Oh, she's just givin' me trouble about this leap. One of the timeline shifts she wasn't able to track, but she's refusing to believe me."

"Well, that's understandable," he said. "I mean, if anything I did while I was you, ah, Bingo changed the timeline, it invariably would've changed the project as well. You're absolutely vital to it."

For once, I didn't argue, remembering my talk with St. John. Instead, I looked down and got a good look at what Sam was reading. " _Sci Fi Magazine_?" I asked in wonder.

"Hey, gotta know what shows I missed while I was out for the leap," he said with a grin. "You know I can never forget _Babylon 5_."

"Kid?" I asked hesitantly. "We gotta talk. About this past leap."

"I know," he said. "I was thinking, about back in the office?" he continued. "I shouldn't have been so shocked by your suggestion to leave you alone. I mean, I have no idea what timeline you're used to now. I shouldn't expect anything from you, until we talk about what changes have happened. Least of all what I said to you before I leaped."

What he said before he leaped? My question was cut short, however, as I saw one of the photos in the magazine. "What in the hell?" I yelped, and quickly grabbed the magazine.

"Al?" His voice held that hysterical concern it did back in the office, but I hardly noticed, too engrossed in my new discovery. I turned the magazine around, and felt myself blanch as I gazed upon . . . .

"Roddy McDowell?!?" I squeaked, looking at a photo spread for _Planet of the Apes_.

"Yeah?" he asked. "The Sci Fi Channel is doing a marathon this month."

"That's him!" I pointed.

"Yeahhhh?" he asked cautiously.

"That's St. John!" I continued. True, he was much younger in the photo, but without a doubt, it was the man I was currently looking for.

"Sinjin?" Sam asked, puzzled, crunching his forehead at the odd name, trying to place it. "No, he played Galen. I don't think they had a character named Sinjin," he finished, and I looked up at the sound of recognition of the name in his voice.

I quickly explained the phenomenon of Edward St. John, the fifth, his temporary hologram.

"Al, you're not going to believe this," he said when I got done. "Back . . . way back before I met you, and I was still just tinkering with the string theory, I had worked briefly on this creation of a real-life hologram – for I didn't know if I would actually have a real person playing observer. It would've worked – just like the holodeck on the Enterprise," he said with a smile. "I would've made sure he could walk outside the IC as well. I was going to fashion it after this teacher I had . . . ."

"In Cambridge," I finished for him.

"You know!" he cried in disappointment.

"Why do you think I was late, kid?" I answered. "I was busy talking to your teacher. But he said he was St. John, the fourth," I finished in confusion.

"Well, I couldn't very well name him exactly, could I?" Sam finished. "That's why I was gonna have him sound like Roddy McDowell – my teacher kinda reminded me of him physically – in fact, that's who I thought it was the first time I met St. John. I guess if I had gone that extra step and created it, it would've ended up looking like him as well."

"So where does Alpha come into all this?" I asked more to myself.

"Alpha?" he asked.

"When St. John appeared, the computer was called Alpha," I explained.

"That was a name I had toyed with for my computer," he said. He added with a grin, "But thankfully, you convinced me to name her Ziggy instead."

Guess that was something else my younger self remembered. "Her," I said, still mystified by the change in sex.

"Yeah, her," Sam said. "Ziggy, you _are_ still a girl, aren't you?"

And I nearly had another heart attack as a voice emanated from the handlink . . . a voice I recognized fully as St. John's, saying, "Rather."

"What the . . ." Sam asked.

"Ziggy?!?" I exclaimed in shock. _That_ had been a manifestation of . . . of _Ziggy_?

"We did need to contain the sanity of the project, did we not?" Ziggy said, her (his?) voice changing from one to the other halfway through. And I started to laugh. That kind of laughter you have when all you can do is laugh. Hell, how could I not see this as funny? At the moment of my 'demise', Ziggy had created the projection of both St. John and Alpha as a means to get Sam (and the project) back on track. And obviously decided to have some fun on my account as well, hence not telling me the full story.

"Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?" Sam asked in confusion.

I explained. And found myself laughing all the harder.

And Sam reacted to it . . . well, oddly. "Ziggy, what is the personal stats of Dr. Calavicci?"

What in the hell did _that_ have to do with anything?

"In what regards, Dr. Beckett?"

"Does he have any memory of our conversation last week?"

Aside from the simple fact that he hadn't even been here last week?

"Dr. Calavicci is still acclimating himself with the current timeline changes, Dr. Beckett," Ziggy drawled. "It always takes him a little time to adjust to them. I would even be surprised if he remembered you being here at all."

"What?" he cried. He turned to me and asked, "When was the last time you saw me? In the flesh, that is?"

I blanched, not wanting to ruin his happy world. But I knew he would be able to tell if I was lying. "Four years, Sam, give or take a couple of months."

"What?!?"

"The retrieval process never worked, kid," I sighed. "Not in my timeline, anyway. You were lost. I was an Admiral in the Navy, believe it or not."

"You?" he asked, shocked.

"Yeah. Kick in the butt, huh?" I continued with a laugh. "But you fixed that, kid. Somehow, by bein' me, I ended up deciding to leave the military and go into Physics instead."

"Well, that explains the hug, I guess," he said with regret.

"Sam, what are you talking about?" I asked, exasperated.

"Before I leaped. You were the one who insisted we try leaping into you. Your relationship with Chip had left you not exactly open for a long-term relationship with another man. He had hurt you, and hurt you bad. You asked me to try and fix it."

"What about the rules?" I asked, remembering when I had asked him to help me with Beth. But then I realized in this timeline, I would've never asked Sam to get Beth back. "What about not changing our own past?"

He gave me a sad smile, and said, "You know I could never say 'no' to you, Al." And I echoed his smile as I saw the obvious love he had for me.

"Kid, you have created so many realities for me, I'm not even sure which one to believe anymore." I sighed again, thinking over this leap. Was I angry with him? Just as useless to be angry at God. I signed myself up for this time travel roller coaster, and I only had myself to blame if my life was not my own anymore. That became true the moment I met up with Sam – whenever it was. Deciding to take a leap of another kind, I finally said, "I've got a few surprises for you, too, Sam. The very first timeline? The one that existed before you leaped? We were lovers."

"Lovers?" And it was hard not to hear the hope in his voice.

"Yeah, and I've regretted its loss, ever since . . ." and I trailed off. No need to bring Donna into it now. I gave a grin – maybe, for a change, I would be able to win one. "But like I always say, kid, it's just a matter of time." And I gave his hand a gentle squeeze to show him the love I felt for him.

He dropped his eyes down to gaze upon our two hands, then reached over and boldly brushed his lips with mine. "Just a matter of time, huh?" he asked, standing, still maintaining contact with my hand. "Then, if I hear you right, I've got four years of lovin' to make up to you, Al," and dragged me to the end of the table. Finally nothing between us, he crushed me to him in a hug reminiscent of the one I had given him, but this time combined with an erotic kiss that made my entire body turn into jelly.

Giving me a leer he must've picked up from me, he gave a slight laugh and said to the ceiling, "Ziggy? I'm going back to my room with Dr. Calavicci, and we don't want to be disturbed for at least a week."

"As expected, Dr. Beckett," she said, and I could swear I could hear the smile in her voice. "Have fun, you two," she said, an echo of an echo, and I smiled.

"Anything you say, Zig," I said, remembering Sam saying that phrase to me. "Anything you say."

**Fini – 3/25/2001**

 


End file.
